Delicate
by LASOS
Summary: The words leave her mouth, a quiet whisper, and in that moment you realize that there was never any other choice. Set mostly between ANH and ESB. Could be considered AU, depending on your mood. HSLO.


_**Delicate**_

**Summary: **The words leave her mouth, a quiet whisper, and in that moment you realize that there was never any other choice. Set mostly between ANH and ESB. Could be considered AU, depending on your mood. Spoilers for ESB, I suppose. If you haven't seen it...well then why are you even here?

**Disclaimer: **Is there a creative way to say that it all belongs to George? Except the lyrics-they belong to Queen and Damien Rice.

**A/N: **This is a response for the Queen roulette challenge in the Bespin Cafe over at the JC boards. I had to include the song title in the piece and an optional lyric. My song was "Mother Love" and my lyric was "All I want to know is that you're there." Juicy, right? And special thanks to **Mathematica. **You'll definitely find her influence in here.

--

"_We might live like never before; When there's nothing to give; Well, how can we ask for more; We might make love in some sacred place; The look on your face is delicate; So why'd you fill my sorrows; With the words you borrowed; From the only place you've known..."_

Damien Rice, "Delicate"

--

It is pure luck, or maybe the Force, or perhaps there is a higher power with a twisted sense of irony, that the blaster pointed in your direction is not in the hands of an Imperial soldier or sneering bounty hunter. The blaster isn't even being held by one of Ta Minor's local police officers or someone who _really_ wants you dead, like the Princess after one too many cracks about her royal virginity. Instead, the weapon is clutched in the shaking grip of a slightly deranged man with wild blue eyes and disheveled hair, a man who has never heard of Han Solo and probably couldn't pick Leia Organa out of a lineup if his life depended on it.

Except that, you realize with a sinking feeling in your stomach, your lack of infamy here makes you expendable, anonymous hostages. You're both worth more to your true enemies alive--packages for those in power who can't be bothered by the hunt but want the killing to themselves. But the man waving the blaster doesn't know your names, doesn't know your value, the million-credit bounties on your heads, and it bodes poorly for your chances.

_("Never tell me the odds.")_

There are sixteen people in the barricaded tapcafe, including you two yet-to-be-recognized Rebels, the gunman, and the pregnant woman lying on the floor in a red, red pool of her own blood. Leia is kneeling next to the woman, her delicate hands pressed furiously against the gaping wound in her chest, the white strapless sundress that you'd bought her yesterday now stained crimson. The woman's cries of pain have long since quieted to anguished whimpers, but her breathing has slowed to ragged, choked inhales, and there is a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth, and you know that it isn't a good sign.

Leia knows, too.

"Mother Love," she whispers, and you recognize the desperate prayer to the Alderaani goddess. The woman beneath her hands takes another gurgling breath, and two pink-skinned female Twi'leks at the back of the cafe whimper fearfully.

"Shut up!" the gunman screams, brandishing his blaster at the cowering women. "Shut up!"

"Leave 'em alone, they're just scared," you say loudly, and the barrel and the wild gaze are instantly on you. You lift your hands up, missing the comfortable weight of the holster at your hip and silently cursing the parameters of this mission to Ta Minor that dictated you leave your beloved DL-44 with Chewie on the _Falcon_. Though you are more than capable without a weapon, the number of innocent bystanders puts you at a disadvantage (and though Leia is far from innocent or incapable, she is your first priority), and you have yet to figure out a way to tackle the gunman while keeping the others (and Leia, _LeiaLeiaLeia_) safe from stray bolts.

"You shut up, too!" The man takes a step closer, the blaster aimed somewhere in the vicinity of your forehead.

"Look," you insist, keeping your hands in the air. "I just want to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you!" He brandishes the weapon again, and you begin to feel just slightly better about your situation. This man is an amateur. Four steps closer and another wave of the gun and you'll be able to grab the psycho's wrist before he can reset his aim.

"Just tell me your name," you say soothingly. _Keep him talking._

Wild blue eyes study you for a tense moment, and you notice the bloodshot whites and heavy, dark circles. The man hasn't slept in days, or perhaps he just looks the part of someone who lost the shaky grip on his mind long, long ago.

"You don't need to know my name," he says at last.

"Maybe not, but I'd like to know." You lean back against the bar and wave your right hand casually. "We're just making introductions here. I'm Han."

You can feel Leia's startled eyes fly to your face, and you know without a glance that she is frightened, terrified for you, but not even her fingertips will shake and her beautiful features will betray none of the panic within.

_("You're braver than I thought.")_

"Sepp," your captor concedes tersely.

"Sepp," you repeat, all soothing baritone. "Let's talk for a minute. I'd really like to know what's going on right now. Why we're all here. Personally, I've never had a blaster pointed at me before." Out of the corner of your eye, you see Leia almost smirk at the lie behind that statement. It was only last week, after all, that she'd pressed the barrel of her gun into the center of your chest. You were at the targeting range and your joke about Luke's infatuation with her went a little too far, and there was a smile in her eyes and the blaster was set to stun, but it was the wrong end nonetheless. "It's a little unnerving, and I'd just like to know what I did to deserve it."

Sepp's face twists into something menacing, then anguished, and you see his knuckles tighten around the hilt of the gun until they are white and the veins in his hand are bulging green beneath his tanned, dirty skin.

"Look," you press. _Talk to me. Keep your eyes on me. Don't look at Leia. _"We've been in here for nearly half an hour and you haven't demanded anyone's credits yet, so I'm assuming you're not here to rob the place, and anyway, a tapcafe in downtown Ta Minor won't make you rich and ain't really worth the risk. We're all still alive--" you glance at the woman on the floor and see her draw another strangled breath--"mostly, so you probably aren't looking to go on a killing spree. Which means that you want something else. You want _attention_." You lean forward again, slowly. "The question is, why?"

"They took my daughter!" Sepp screams suddenly, surprising everyone in the cafe. This time, you cannot help but catch Leia's eyes, just a fleeting glance, and then fight the urge to groan. The guy is just a raving lunatic who isn't doing himself or his kid any favors by holding up a kaffe shop full of people. "They took my daughter and no one will listen to me! No one hears me!"

"Okay, well, we're all listening now," you point out, taking the slightest step forward. "Who took your daughter?"

You've got Leia in your peripheries and you notice that her attention is all at once not on you and not on the gun and not on the dying woman beneath her hands, but somewhere outside of the frosted transparisteel door that's been blocked by two heavy tables. _Ah, kreth. _The calvary has arrived. It's the local authorities, the gods damned local authorities, and you know immediately that things are about to go from bad to worse fast. Leia ducks her head again and presses a little harder against the pregnant woman's blaster wound, and her thoughts are so loud that she might as well be screaming them.

_We've got to get out of here before anyone figures out who we are._

So time isn't really on your side anymore, not that it ever really has been to begin with. If the locals are here, it means the Imps have been alerted, and that means as soon as this ends, however this ends, you're on the run. And Chewie and the _Falcon _and your blaster are in orbit somewhere around the fourth moon of Ta Prime, with landing permits that won't give him access to the public hangars for another day. Even if you can trigger the emergency beacon and the Wook can fabricate a permit, you're still stuck on-planet for no less than six hours.

_Kreth. Krethkrethkreth._

The bright spot in this mess, if you were a silver lining kind of guy, is that the mission has been completed successfully and Leia has already sent the transfer coordinates for five new cruisers and a desperately-needed donation of medical supplies to the _Falcon_'s computer banks. Her negotiations had gone off without a hitch, three days early, which was the whole reason for yesterday's shopping trip and today's side visit to the tapcafe. Neither of you were in any hurry to get back to Echo Base and the cold wastes of Hoth, not when the sun was warming your shoulders, not when she could wear strappy sandals that reminded you of some sort of goddess and the princess she deserves to be.

(And yesterday, you had walked, _strolled_, fingers intertwined, twisted together like the roots of an ancient tree, solid. And this morning, you had brushed your lips against her forehead when she emerged from the 'fresher wearing the dress you'd bought, and she'd looked almost disappointed when you pulled away.)

_Kreth_. You really _had _to walk into this stupid cafe, didn't you? But Leia had been holding your hand, and she said it looked like a cute little place, and you'd been so blindsided and enamored by the word _cute _escaping _her_ lips, and now here you are. She's got her delicate little hands inside someone's chest and you're playing negotiator (and you really should have switched roles, but she had dropped to her knees first) and you're both furiously, silently, trying to come up with a way out of this.

_("Looks like you've managed to cut off our only escape route.")_

You force your eyes to stay on Sepp and not glance to the nearly invisible movements of the task force outside the tapcafe. The man is crazy--one iota of what's going on behind the barricades and everything is going to hell.

"Who took your daughter?" you ask again, more gently this time.

"The government," Sepp bites, an edge of desperation to his voice, and you take another slow step forward. "They said I can't take care of her and they won't let me prove that I can. I have to make them listen!"

_Hell of a way to get your kid back, buddy. They might let her visit for an hour once a month if they don't snipe you right here first._

"Okay," you agree. Another step. "I get it. I do. It's tough to reason with someone who has already made up their mind." This isn't funny, but you know that Leia appreciates the joke all the same. "But don't you think there's another way to go about it?"

You take another step forward, and then several things happen at once. There is a flash of color outside the door and three people to your left notice the movement. Sepp doesn't need to look behind him to know what's going on, but he's suddenly aware, and anyway, he realizes that you are now two steps away instead of across the shop. It's subtle, but it's enough, and Sepp is enraged, furious.

The barrel of the gun swings to Leia, and your heart stops. _Oh gods, no_. _Nonono._ You've made a mistake. Sepp is more lucid than you ever realized, and he's noticed that Leia's brown eyes keep darting back to you, that you have been doing everything you can to keep the attention off her. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder, almost amusedly, if you have always been this obvious.

_("I love you."_

"_I know.")_

"Get up," Sepp demands, shaking the gun at Leia.

"Sepp, Sepp, listen to me." You hope the note of panic in your voice isn't as blatant as you think. "Listen to me. She's the only thing keeping you from being a murderer right now, and I know you don't want that on your hands. She's keeping that woman alive." You inch nearer still. You have to get that gun.

"You stay there!" Sepp bellows. "Don't come any closer! I'll kill her! I swear I will kill her!"

_("Better her than me.")_

There was a time in your life where you didn't care whether or not Leia Organa lived or died, but that was before you met her, before she'd stolen your heart with a sarcastic comment in a smoke-filled detention block. You looked into her eyes just once, just _once_, and you knew that you would collapse under the weight of your inexplicable grief if she died. And it is _Leia_. Leia's life, Leia's safety, Leia's sanity. She is the reason why you went back to Yavin, the reason why the bounty on your head grows daily, the reason why you are standing in a tapcafe on Ta Minor with your hands raised and calculating just how many shots you could take before falling as long as it meant she could get out of here.

_Better me than her._

_Leia._

"No, Sepp! You _need _her. Look." You retreat a step, slowly, hands still raised. "I won't come any closer. Just don't hurt her." Your voice catches. _Please don't hurt her. _"She hasn't done anything. If you need to kill someone, kill me."

"No!" You have never met anyone calmer under pressure, anyone _stronger,_ than Leia, but her voice is shaking. The blaster that was slowly making its way towards you is back on her again, and you want to scream at her for being so idiotic. "No one needs to die today. You don't need to shoot anyone else."

Sepp's wild eyes lock on Leia's, and you think, stupidly, just for a second, that she looks like Luke when he's pulling one of his Jedi mind tricks. And then you see her lift one bloody pinky finger, as if repositioning it on the woman. It's so subtle that you could have missed it, but you know instantly what she's trying to say.

You are quick, but Sepp is a madman and manages to shoot off two bolts, wildly, blindly, as you tackle him to the floor. The ensuing struggle is short and chaotic, drowned out by the panicked screams of the other hostages and the shattering of the door behind you as the task force's controlled detonators clear the way, but you emerge the sound victor, leaving Sepp unconscious and the blaster kicked across the cafe. You are panting hard, shaking from the adrenaline coursing through your body, and searching for her while trying to make sense of the smoke-filled maelstrom around you.

_Leia._

The white dress she's wearing is stained with blood, and you don't realize that it's hers until you reach her. And there is so much screaming and the police are shouting orders over the din and Leia, _your_ _Leia_, has collapsed on the floor next to the body of the pregnant woman, and for a moment, you believe she is dead.

_Oh gods, Leia._

But she isn't dead, because dead princesses don't clutch at their sides like that. They don't bite their lower lips to keep from screaming in pain, they don't search your face with wide brown eyes streaming with tears. You crouch over her. Her delicate hands are pressed against the left side of her torso, which might be a Good Thing. The shot grazed her, no organs hit, but--_ohgodsohgods--_you can't take her to a hospital because they'll _know_.

"Han," she gasps, and you're lifting her, swiftly, carefully, cradling her in your arms as though she were a child. She buries her head into your chest, and she doesn't watch as you dart through the fray. You are lucky (thanks to the gods or the Force or other higher powers with senses of irony). The authorities are too focused on Sepp and the pregnant woman to notice you slip out, and the Imperials haven't yet gotten there. No one pays you any mind, and your hotel is just around the corner, and you take the service lift to your floor before anyone can realize that you're both covered in blood. You look as though you could be newlyweds, but the sweet nothings you whisper into her hair are not sweet nothings at all, but quiet pleas for her to stay with you.

The door to your suite cycles shut behind you, and in one swift movement you lay her down on the nearest bed and activate the emergency beacon in your belt. You know she keeps bacta and synthflesh in her pack on principle, and you empty her bag on the floor, kicking the contents around with your boot so you can avoid bloodying her remaining clothes until you find what you need. And then you are at her side again, halfway wondering if there is some way to salvage her dress as you consider the best way to get at her wound, and one of her sticky, crimson hands closes over yours.

"Han," she says, and you wince at the pain in her voice. You were stupid, so, so stupid, and now she's hurt, and it's all your fault.

"Leia, I have to bandage your burn before you bleed out. We can't go to a hospital. I need to get you out of this dress."

She nods, dazed. Her face is grayed and dirty from the explosion in the tapcafe, and you can see the tracks of her tears on her cheeks, snaking porcelain rivers. She rolls to her right side and you find the clasp at the back of her dress and pull the garment gently off her small form. You're so worried about her that you can't enjoy the sight of so much of her skin, can't even entertain fantasies, file the thoughts of another time and another place in the back of your mind--just as much skin, but not nearly as much blood.

You work quickly and make a note to carry her to the medcenter yourself as soon as you get back to Hoth and demand that she get her blood tested for illness. She is soaked in the pregnant woman's blood, and there's no way to tell if it has contaminated her own wound. The bacta spreads cool over the torn, charred skin, and the synthflesh staunches the flow of her lifeblood, but she keeps no painkillers in her bags and you have nothing to offer her but strong liquor from the under-stocked minibar, which she declines.

_("It's not bad.")_

She is taking shallow inhales through clenched teeth as you help her to the shower, and your insistence to help her get clean has nothing to do with voyeuristic daydreams and everything to do with the fact that she's lost enough blood to make her more than a little dizzy and you want to be there if she collapses. And besides, you both are stripped only to your underwear, and she knows better than to construe your intentions as sexual. She leans heavily into your chest and lets you wash away the dirt and blood on her body (and you do your best to ignore so much Leia and how _right _it feels to have her pressed against you).

There is no talking as you help her dry off and pull a fresh, loose shift over her head. There is only the sound of her labored breathing and your thundering heartbeat until she is finally reclined against the pillows of the far bed because the other one is covered in blood. You give her some water and then a ration bar to help her get her strength up, but she only takes one tiny bite before she clamps a delicate hand over her mouth against the nausea.

"It's okay, Sweetheart," you tell her, brushing two fingers along her hairline, and she looks at you with sad, pained eyes.

"I don't think we're going to be able to rescue the dress."

One thing you've always loved about Leia is her predilection for humor in dire situations. It reminds you of, well, you. The edges of your mouth tug into a grin.

"Oh, well. Guess I'll just have to get you another one sometime."

A ghost of a smile appears on her lips, but it is soon lost behind the pain.

"It's too bad. I really liked it."

_("Do you think a princess and a guy like me could ever--")_

You resist the urge to pull her into your arms then. It isn't easy, and in fact the only thing that stops you is the knowledge that you'd be hurting her if you did. So you're trying to figure out the best way to keep touching her, because if you're touching her, then she's _there_, she's with you, she won't be lost. And she looks like she wants to say something else, and you're both awkwardly frozen in this bizarre moment when your comm beeps, breaking the silence and startling you both.

There are a hundred thousand reasons to love the oversized Wookiee that has sworn a life debt to you, not the least of which are his resourcefulness and his keen, Luke-like, precognitive sense of danger. He tells you in a series of shouts and growls that he got worried about you this morning and was already on the south side of Ta Minor with false permits drawn up when you activated the beacon. He's at the public bay down the street, and your bags are packed in under a minute and Leia gets up on her own and insists that she can walk, but lets you keep your arm around her all the same. The walk takes a little longer than it should, but there isn't any sign of trouble, and Chewie is blasting off before the ramp has even sealed behind you.

He knows where you're going and he doesn't need your help, which means you're free to tend to the princess. She accepts the painkillers at last after you tell her that she's been a hero long enough, but she doesn't get drowsy like you thought she would even when her breathing calms and you dim the lights in the cabin. You make a move to leave, but her arm shoots out and catches yours, and suddenly you realize that your body has been branded in every place she was touching you earlier, because your skin sparks and tingles all at once.

"Princess?"

"Stay."

Your heart stops again for the second time today, but now it is for a completely different reason. She gives your fingers a delicate squeeze and looks at you with something like hope.

"Sure," you say, nodding slowly. "I just, ah...can I get you anything? Do you want some more water or maybe to try to eat again?"

She shakes her head and pulls at your hand, and you wonder if this means that she wants you to join her on the single bunk. You test that theory and sit on the edge, and she confirms it by sliding over and rolling onto her right side. And your hands are shaking again as you curl around her, careful of the angry burn on her side, and you wonder how this woman has been so easily able to make you forget everything about life and love and sex that you knew before you met her.

_Leia._

She fits into you perfectly, like two pieces of some strange puzzle, and her skin is cold, so you pull a blanket up and cocoon yourselves in warmth and an odd peace. She inhales deeply and you think that perhaps she is falling asleep, but suddenly she is speaking and you're questioning your sanity and if you are, in fact, the luckiest man in the galaxy.

"All I want to know is that you're there, Han."

The words leave her mouth, a quiet whisper, and in that moment you realize there was never any other choice. You don't care if it's the painkillers or the blood loss or the fallout from so much fear that is making her talk this way, but suddenly, bounties and crime lords and thoughts of leaving have all been damned to whatever hells there are, because you _are_ there, you're with her, and you won't be going anywhere as long as she wants you around. You kiss her damp hair and the side of her ear. Whisper, "I'm here."

_("I love you._

"_I know.")_

It's a promise, a vow. She knows it, because the cold fingers still holding yours squeeze and then release. And there is a raw burn marring her porcelain skin, and you are on your way back to war and a frozen rock, and your copilot probably wants you dead because you haven't yet shown your face in the cockpit, but none of it matters because everything in your world is perfect.

She sleeps in your arms, and she dreams. Twice, she says your name.

--

Your promise lasts until you see the bounty hunter's blaster pressed between her shoulder blades in a dirty alley on Ord Mantell. Sure, you get her away unharmed, but not before you're scarred by the memories of her pain, of that split second when you thought she was dead, and suddenly, Ta Minor is real all over again and it's. _All. Your. Fault. _

_She's better off without me around, screwing everything up for her, and I was a damn fool to think that a princess and a guy like me could ever--_

You want to protect her, you can't _not _protect her, and it is less painful for her to be alive and hate you than cold-dead somewhere, shot in the chest or between the eyes because you were too stupid to leave her alone three years ago. So you do what you do best. You fight with her. You push her away, you try to make her hate you, and you take a figurative vibroblade to your own heart every time you cut her down and every time she bites back.

(She bites back, but still has that _look_ in her eyes, the one that begs of you, _"Why are you doing this?"_

You wish you had a better answer.

And, you wish it didn't _hurt_ this much.)

Your final threat to leave isn't a threat anymore, because Chewie is finishing with the last-minute maintenance on the _Falcon _and you're ignoring him every time he spouts off how moronic you're being. You've just finished your last scouting tour with Luke and you've said so long to Rieekan, and now all that's left for you to do is to say goodbye to _her_.

And then you see her across the Command Center and realize that you were such a jackass to have made promises. To have held her while she slept, to have kissed her like you did. You remember every curve of her mouth, her shoulder, her hips, her delicate hands. You know that she likes it when you kiss the nape of her neck, that she shudders with pleasure every time you brush your fingers along the back of her thigh, that when she moans _that _way, you know she's almost--

It's all there in her eyes now, and it's in your heart, and it will haunt you forever.

_("I thought you had decided to stay.")_

You fight in the South Passage and the same, tired insults are hurled like detonators. And she knows as well as you do that there's no point in arguing with someone who's already made up their mind.

_I'm such a krethin' idiot._

You could have changed your mind, you know. She _wanted_ you to change it. But you didn't. And now you're here in the gods damned frozen hallway, toe-to-toe, and her lips are so close and her breath is as sweet as you remember, and if you dip your head just a centimeter you can crush her mouth in yours and she would let you. She would let you, she would curl her delicate hands into your hair like she has so many times before, and you could pick her up, and she would wrap her legs around your waist, and you could and carry her back to the _Falcon _and your clothes would be on the floor before you made it all the way to your cabin...

(You don't have to leave. You could keep her safe.)

But you can't. But you can't keep her safe, so instead you watch yourself, disembodied, _not_ kiss her. You've died and your soul has left your body and you're watching a holo of your life as you're shutting her out, making her hate you that much more, so maybe it won't be so hard on her when you leave. And you realize a minute too late that she's going to let you. She's just as stubborn as you, and she can be as cold as this forsaken planet, and she _knows_ what you're doing.

And she_ lets_ you walk away.

_("You could use a good kiss!")_

You win the last words, but the victory is meaningless, hollow. You succeeded in your mission and now she hates you, and all you can do anymore is hope that maybe Jabba kills you, and maybe it'll be quick, because you saw the broken look in her deep brown eyes, and you're going to live the rest of your life knowing that it was you who put it there.

_("All I want is to know that you're there, Han."_

"_I'm here.")_

You never, not once in three years, thought that she was delicate.

Maybe she wasn't until you started making promises you couldn't keep.


End file.
